


Adapting

by NeoVenus22



Category: The Devil Wears Prada
Genre: F/F, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miranda was not all that fond of the new Andrea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adapting

Miranda was not all that fond of the new Andrea. Her breasts were larger, yes, but they sagged more, and were soft. It was both unpleasant to look at from a professional standpoint, and frustrating to deal with on a personal level.

Her hips, thankfully, were a suitable width. It lent to a classic hourglass figure, and a smooth silhouette, unlike Andrea's early days of being the doughy sort clinging fruitlessly to the notion of, _the bigger the cushion, the sweeter the pushin'_, or other such nonsense. Miranda wondered how miserable a sort Andrea's boyfriend was that he tolerated such behavior. The girl had babbled about him helplessly often enough, not that Miranda had ever paid any attention. It was mostly an attempt to distract at best, or at worst, a piss-poor attempt to con herself into believing she had any sort of control.

She did not, of course.

The eyes were more or less the same, though. Big, brown, cow-like things that always gazed upward as Andrea sank to her knees, meeting Miranda's gaze in an unabashed, last-chance bid for approval. After all this time, she still seemed to leap for praise.

Of course, the most notable difference was that this Andrea was far too self-assured. Gone was the nervous, stuttering and stumbling assistant Miranda was used to, the one who kissed with too much slobber above the waist, and not enough below. This one knew precisely how to bring Miranda to suitable orgasm with lips and tongue. She knew her place. Miranda's fingers were delicate, elegant, upper-class sorts good for turning pages or selecting outfits or dismissing casually. This girl's fingers were short, the sort that belonged to the working class, perfect for sliding in and out of a wet cunt, so that Miranda would not have to bother. She'd even shamed the girl into keeping her manicure, curing her more or less of a filthy nail-biting habit that had once, and only once, had a devastating effect on her more delicate flesh.

It wasn't as though she didn't appreciate the efficiency of it. But Miranda also enjoyed a challenge.

Miranda primly pushed her knees together and smoothed her skirt over her thighs, rolling back from the desk just enough to let Andrea out. "Very good, Andrea," she said. "You may go."

The doe-eyed assistant with the sagging breasts and narrow waist peered at Miranda despondently. "My name's Elizabeth," she said, her voice twinged with a familiar desperation, that sad puppy begging for scraps.

Miranda's career was based on the ever-flowing current of change. Her job was to observe it, highlight it, and make it work for her wherever possible.

This was the only change she chose to ignore.


End file.
